14 August 2006

I’ve recently noticed that I have a tendency to ridicule animals. Well, maybe “ridicule” is going too far—I definitely like to laugh at them, though. This explains the monkey obsession. Monkeys are just too much like humans for me to let it go unridiculed. Anyway, the other day I was trying to convince Kris to get a dog.“It’s either a kid or a dog,” said Kris.“Okay, a dog.”“But we need to wait until we have a big yard. I don’t want an inside dog.”“Oh, come on. We can get a French bulldog. You like French things, don’t you. Here’s a picture of one.”“It’s hideous. And our apartment is what? Close to 100 square feet? What will the dog do?”“You don’t buy a bulldog because it does things. You buy it so you can laugh at it.”“Laugh at it?”“Yes. Because it’s so hideous.”“Let’s just have a kid, okay?”

Lately Kris has been laughing at me because I talk to the cat. One of the cats (at the house where we are house-sitting)—her name is Princess—has recently taken up the effort to establish an open dialogue between herself and her new caretakers. Whenever we crack the windows on cool nights, Princess will poke her head through the crack and begin talking to us. Of course, the only word she knows is “Meow.” But Princess has a bit of a nasal quality to her voice, and it ends up sounding like “Now.”So when she initiates the conversation, I just barrage her with questions like the following:

“When do you want me to do some jumping jacks?”“Now.”“Okay. When do you want me to give you some smoked salmon?”“Now.”“Got it. When do you want me to bodyslam you?”“Now.”“Are you sure? Let’s wait a few minutes.”“Now.”“Whatever you say. And when would you like us to remove your vocal chords?”